


Your Fire Under My Skin

by allimarie_xf



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Earth-2, F/M, Missing Scene, Remix, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-20 15:19:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18527737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allimarie_xf/pseuds/allimarie_xf
Summary: The fires of Nanda Parbat haunt Felicity's nights, while Oliver Queen's burning eyes haunt her days.  It's only a matter of time before the sparks ignite.





	Your Fire Under My Skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cruzrogue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruzrogue/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Earth-2 Felicity Q-Smoak](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16753738) by [cruzrogue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruzrogue/pseuds/cruzrogue). 



> Written for the first Olicity FanArt/Fic Appreciation Exchange, this story is inspired by Cruzrogue's "Earth-2 Felicity Q-Smoak"
> 
> This story is a missing scene set between chapters 2 and 3, when "ruthless business woman" Earth-2 Felicity Smoak is returning from business dealings with Nanda Parbat, where she has recently received Oliver Queen as a gift from Ra's al Ghul. The Oliver Queen who is believed to have drowned when the Queen's Gambit sank, but who actually has been living in captivity as a prize-fighter in Nanda Parbat.
> 
> I was drawn in by the mysterious world she created in that story, and especially intrigued by the history between Oliver and Felicity. There are 13 years between that story’s “present” and its flashbacks, and clearly a lot has happened between them during those years. I couldn’t help but want to fill in that blank, just a little bit ;)

 

She’d taken to leaving the door open a crack when she went to bed. She couldn’t exactly pinpoint when it happened, or why, but somewhere in the unexamined back of her mind she was aware it had to do with him.

With the way his eyes were always on her, the way she could feel it. At first it was an annoyance, the way she would look away from her tablet, her meal, her conversation with one of the crew, and the first thing her eyes would meet were his, watching her. It felt like an invasion of her privacy, like he had the ability to see more than she chose to show, and that made her deeply uncomfortable. But the longer it went on, the longer he refused to betray or exploit any of the weaknesses she felt sure he could perceive, the more she began to trust that he wouldn’t.

And without realizing it, she began to find comfort in his presence. She began to crave it, began to let herself enjoy the physical sensation that buzzed down her spine when her eyes met his from across the room. She wasn’t immune to the tension that constantly sparked between them, the attraction that, if she wasn’t mistaken, went both ways, but she had plenty of experience with men, with sex, and she mostly tried to convince herself that the thrill she experienced in his vicinity had more to do with the almost-taboo circumstances of their acquaintance, or with the self-imposed abstinence of her business trip, than anything to do with him personally.

So when his deep blue eyes made something stir in her core every time she connected with his steady gaze, she refused to look deeper into it.

But she did begin the leave the door open, feeling more at ease, somehow, knowing he was just outside.

 

* * *

 

She woke up with a start, the sweat soaking through her satin nightgown making it stick to her skin. 

She took several gulping breaths of air that, if not exactly fresh, was at least not the stifling, smoky air from Nanda Parbat. Her heartbeats began to slow when it suddenly occurred to her that she wasn’t alone. She felt his presence in the darkness. “How long have you been standing there?”

At first he didn’t answer, but she turned her eyes toward the spot near her nightstand where she knew he was watching her with that same penetrating gaze that saw too much. It had only been a few weeks since he’d been thrust upon her, an unwarranted “gift” from Ra’s al Ghul with, she suspected, his own agenda, but as she listened to him through the silence, she realized with a jolt of surprise that she was already learning to read him, too. She could feel him hesitating, considering his response. 

“Less than five minutes,” he finally replied, his voice rough from disuse.

She let that sink in, knowing in the back of her head that with anyone else she would have felt violated, but that with him she only felt protected. Comforted. An alarm went off somewhere deep inside her at that thought, because Felicity Smoak didn’t crave protection. Felicity Smoak didn’t need protection. “And why did you come in here?” she asked, her voice extra sharp because she knew she must have cried out in her sleep. She felt exposed, aware that he had seen her wrestling with the fear she’d felt standing in front of the Demon’s Head, fear she’d managed to suppress and overcome, except in her dreams. 

He cleared his throat. “I heard a disturbance. A struggle. I thought, maybe…,” his voice faded, but his implication was clear. He’d expected to find her grappling with an enemy, only to find her locked in a nightmare. “But there was no attacker.”

Knowing that he had observed her weakness, and that her first instinct had been to welcome his watchful presence, her alarm blossomed into irrational anger. “Then why did you stay?” she snapped, attempting to leverage the unequal balance of power between them that she normally tried to erase: she, the wealthy woman and he, the virtual slave standing around waiting upon her whim. He, a silent, menacing man, who carried a sword and whose very presence disturbed the peace on her yacht, yet who followed her around offering unasked for protection as if her safety was the only thing he lived and breathed for. Since he’d joined them, the air of camaraderie had evaporated among the crew; even her four hired bodyguards seemed to melt away from his presence. Out of all the people on the boat, she was the only one who didn’t shrink away from him, which she only just now realized had served to isolate her as well. She should have laughed in his face and forced him to sleep on the deck, instead of allowing herself to be drawn in by his eyes.

She waited for a reply that didn’t come, and all at once she needed to see him, to face him down, to prove that she was equal to his evaluating gaze, to prove to him and to herself once and for all that he was just a man, with no special insight or power over her. To prove that she didn’t need nor desire his protection. In one quick motion she switched on the bedside lamp, surprising him as he stood over her with a deeply conflicted look on his face.

All of her anger fell away at once. 

He was standing next to her bed, much closer than she’d imagined, and his eyes locked onto hers immediately. Wide, blue eyes that held more passion and depth than she had ever seen in another person, and it hit her that he  _ was  _ just a man, and all the more dangerous for it, but it hit her also that she no longer cared. 

He was overly large in the intimate space of her bedroom, and Felicity realized with a flash of self-awareness that her satin nightgown had ridden up around her waist. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead of answering her, his eyes raked slowly down her body, as if compelled, taking in every inch of her exposed skin. 

Felicity watched his adam’s apple bob and felt a spike of hot lust run through her at his reaction. She took refuge in directness, a strategy which had helped her a lot when she’d first been finding her footing in the business world. “It was only a nightmare. I’m fine.” She squirmed internally under his gaze, half hoping he would take her words as a dismissal, half hoping he would act on the raw desire she read in his flared nostrils and dilated pupils.

Her words seemed to jolt him back to the present, and when he turned his eyes to hers, there was a softness there she didn’t expect. “I didn’t realize you were prone to nightmares.” His tone was a subtle question, an invitation. 

She knew she could answer him brusquely, reinforcing the wall around any of her seeming vulnerabilities, and that he would leave her without objection. If the past few weeks had taught her anything about him, it was that he would do as she asked, as long as she didn’t ask him to give up protecting her. But instead she found herself asking, again, “Why did you stay?” and this time her eyes were on his, granting him permission to answer honestly.

He swallowed heavily as his gaze dropped to the floor. “I heard...some of what you said.” His eyes drifted warily back up to her face. “About Nanda Parbat, and Ra’s al Ghul.” 

Felicity stared back at him, sensing his sympathy but, strangely, not feeling patronized by it. 

“It is an uneasy place, and the memories also,” he bit his lip, searching for the right word, “visit me, when I sleep.”

“You have nightmares too?” Her surprise made her blunt, which she realized when he suddenly blinked and looked away. Without intending to, she reached a hand toward him. “I mean, of course your experience there….” She drifted off as she watched him stare at her hand, half-extended and hanging in mid-air. She shivered suddenly, out of nowhere, as her body began to react to the cooling sweat that covered her body. 

Instead of answering, he reached out and tugged the edge of her nightgown down, as if doing so could counter her chill. “You’re cold.”

The sensation of his fingers brushing over her skin had her shuddering again, and when she met his eyes they were much nearer than they had been. “No, I,” she licked her dry lips, “I’m just covered in sweat.” She huffed a self-conscious laugh. “Dreaming about those smoky fires and stuffy caverns had a physical effect, I guess.”

Oliver nodded seriously, and she was sorry that her nightmares seemed to have awakened his own dark memories which were, she was certain, much worse than her own experiences. After all, she had faced the Demon and reached a mutually beneficial agreement; Oliver had lived captive in Nanda Parbat for years, fighting to earn his freedom, and yet still not having truly achieved it. 

His fingers were still stroking idly along her bare thigh as she held his gaze for a long moment. “I should probably get cleaned up before I try to sleep again.” 

He nodded slowly. “I’ll run you a bath.”

Felicity’s jaw dropped, but he had already turned away toward her private bathroom before she could protest. Instead she listened, intrigued, as he turned the faucet on and the tub began filling up. She imagined him in the small space of her bathroom, wondering what he was up to, and whether he planned to stay and bathe her. It wasn’t an unappealing thought, and she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t let herself think about him like that on numerous occasions already.

She’d caught him staring at her more times than she could count, and it had been weeks since she’d first read the admiration in his gaze. Admiration that had grown more bold, more brazen, since she’d found herself returning it. It was not a thing they’d ever spoken of, but neither was it something either of them was ashamed of. He was clearly aware of his own sexual appeal, and Felicity had never been a woman to play coy. It was only natural that they’d be attracted to one another. Yet the unconventional nature of their relationship prevented her from taking things further, though doing so would otherwise have been the logical and undoubtedly very gratifying next step.

After several minutes of waiting, Felicity stood up, pulling her flimsy nightgown down as far as it would go, which wasn’t very far, and made her way to the bathroom. She could see him through the open door. His back was to her, and he was kneeling in front of the tub, bent over with his hands dipping into the water. 

He had removed the stiff outer layers of his dark League of Assassins uniform, revealing a loose linen undershirt. He’d rolled up the sleeves to prevent them from getting wet, exposing his muscled forearms.

Felicity felt herself getting wet instead. 

She watched silently from the doorway as he sat back and wiped his dripping hands on his shirt before reaching for a lighter and one of the candles she had strewn along the edge of the bathtub. He silently lit the candle and set it back down, keeping his back to her as he started to speak. “The fires in Nanda Parbat,” he lifted another candle, setting the wick alight, “they’re not comfortable fires. Their flames are too hot for warmth, and they consume the air so that one cannot breathe freely.” He lit another candle, then another. “They burn too brightly, create shadows that are too dark by contrast. When I close my eyes I can still see them against the backs of my eyelids, and when I sleep their heat burns me awake, too.” He turned around to face her, and she saw the shadowed memories in his eyes. 

She drew toward him, compelled by the look on his face and his quiet tone of voice, and when he reached a long arm around to flick off the light switch behind her, she stepped closer, unconsciously seeking his body. 

He dropped his arm but didn’t lean away, and she turned her face up to him, watching the candlelight play over his face, highlighting full lips and contoured cheeks and jaw. Without his league armor he seemed infinitely softer, more touchable, and Felicity fought the urge to reach out and stroke his jaw. 

His eyes flicked to her lips and lingered there, and when he raised his eyes to hers she knew they were both aware of how easy it would be, could be, to close the already small distance between them. But she also knew, somehow, that they were already beyond the point of purely physical gratification. The tension between them already ran deeper. 

He stepped aside, gesturing for her to move past him toward the bath. Felicity held his eyes a moment longer before moving away, unselfconsciously lifting her nightgown over her head and stepping out of her panties as she went. She felt his eyes hot on her skin but didn’t turn around. 

“You speak of the uneasy fires in Nanda Parbat and yet you’ve gone and lit fires here, too.”

She heard his soft chuckle, so much lighter than any sound she’d heard from him before. “I suppose a part of me hopes the fires in your dreams can be rewritten, Miss Smoak.”

She hesitated at the edge of the bath, prolonging the moment. “And you suppose that you will be the one to rewrite them?” 

She heard his small intake of breath and she smiled, knowing she had caught him off guard. 

“Miss Smoak, I…,” his voice dropped to a whisper, “I had to try.”

She dipped the toes of one foot into the tub, testing the water. “What about the fires in your dreams, Oliver? Who will rewrite them?”

She felt his gaze on her back, warming her more thoroughly than the flickering candles, and for a moment she thought he might reach out to her, encompassing one bare shoulder in his large hand, his other arm reaching around to pull her back into his chest. But the silence stretched and the air around her body grew colder without his touch and she sighed quietly, lowering herself into the water, knowing their moment had passed.

Just before she heard the door close, his words reached her. “If anyone can, Miss Smoak, you’ll be the first to know.”

She sank deeper into the tub then, letting the warm water ease the ache in her taut nipples, letting the promise of his words sink into her heart.


End file.
